


more august than a man

by asynchrony



Series: tall poppies [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, All Cops Are Bastards, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Parenting, Disabled Character, Found Family, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Other, Police Brutality, Sawamura Daichi Is Not A Cop, Strangers to Lovers, Trans Sugawara Koushi, brief appearances by some karasuno members and also oikawa, daisuga gay, suga has postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome though i don't name it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26559664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asynchrony/pseuds/asynchrony
Summary: "Why is it that every cute queer on campus thinks I'm straight," Daichi says. "What am I doing wrong."The first time Daichi meets Suga, he literally trips over them. Then they keep running into each other, until they don't need to.(a vaguely australasian, explicitly queer university au. daisuga week 2020 day 1: strangers/roommates)
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Series: tall poppies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061753
Comments: 29
Kudos: 122
Collections: DaiSugaWeek2020, HQ!! Trans Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> to both armies he appeared more august than a man, as though sent from heaven to expiate the anger of the gods.  
>  — roman historian livy, as quoted by agamben in _homo sacer_.
> 
> this is set roughly six years before _[effervescence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254550)_ , in the same universe and "country", but absolutely does not require any knowledge of that fic (in which daisuga do not appear). there'll be more in this universe!

The first time Daichi meets Suga, he literally trips over them. 

It's a Tuesday afternoon near the end of semester, and the sun's heat is a brand on his neck. Fewer students are on campus, and the ones who are have sequestered themselves away in alcoves and at every available computer station or desk to churn out final papers or flashcards or mock exams. 

Which is why Daichi's entirely taken aback when, cutting absently across the grass toward the social work faculty, he suddenly finds himself half-in someone's lap, folder of notes thankfully not scattered too far since the air is stiflingly still. The lanky, dark-haired kid whose knees he's close enough to kiss makes a noise of disgust and gets up, beginning to gather Daichi's papers. 

"That hurt," the person he's still draped over muses, more amused than startled, and Daichi finally comes to his senses enough to roll off and onto his back. 

Then he immediately feels twice as bad, because the sweet-looking student he's just run over has a cane propped neatly against their satchel. Shit. He's going to lose his license before he even gets it, for... tormenting the disabled or something. 

"I'm so sorry!" he finally says, sitting up. "Are you okay?"

"As okay as ever," they say, offering him a wry smile. "Sugawara Koushi. You?"

"Ah... Sawamura Daichi. I'm finishing up my fourth year in social work."

"Kageyama Tobio," the surly-looking beanpole from earlier drops back to the ground and interjects, making him jump. Carefully, as if it's a practised phrase, "What are your pronouns?"

It's immediately endearing. "I'm a he, thank you." Daichi's done a long enough placement with a charity for queer youth to not be taken aback. Well, by anything other than tripping over someone and being asked for your pronouns immediately after. 

Kageyama nods, handing him back his notes. If anything, they're more neatly stacked than they were before. 

"Thank you. Uh, what about you?"

"Same as you," Kageyama says. "Sugawara-san uses they pronouns. I'm a journalism student. It's important to learn to respectfully represent all kinds of people."

That... makes some sort of sense. 

"He's only in his second year and already writing regularly for Chillmag," Sugawara stage-whispers. "Another couple of years and Newsnet'll be sending him out on all the tough ones nobody else wants to do."

The slightest edges of a smile take root on Kageyama's face. It transforms him entirely, bringing him to life as a shy, earnest teenager who probably still has knobbly knees. It makes Daichi want to ruffle his hair, which is unacceptable. He's not that old. 

"I'm interviewing Sugawara-san," Kageyama announces with sudden enthusiasm. 

It's impossible not to humor him. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah! My professor said I needed some feel-good community pieces for my portfolio. I pitched a profile of five changemakers at our university to Chillmag, and they liked it!"

"Then he realized he had to _find_ five changemakers," Sugawara laughs. "He found me on Twitter, actually, while tearing through the university's mentions." They sigh wistfully, looking off into the distance. "One day, whatever poor comms major is running that account will finally get permission to block me."

Daichi suddenly realizes he has no idea what's going on, or how he ended up in this conversation. Kageyama, shuffling on the grass, has pulled a tablet back out of an improbably large pocket in his sports jacket, and looks about ready to pull the stylus to pieces.

"Ah, I should probably get going. I'll let you get back to your interview. Sorry again about earlier!"

"Don't worry about it. You'd better run if you've got a class!" 

There's no class, but it's a good enough reason to dust himself off and haul his creaking body back to its feet. 

"It was nice meeting you, Sugawara-san. I'll catch you around?"

"You'd better! And call me Suga." Suga smiles up at him, so wide the force of it scrunches their eyes up, and Daichi feels his heart skip a beat. 

He nods back, hoping he's smiling, then flees.


	2. Chapter 2

At the start of the next semester, Daichi's got the perfect seat for the first _Sociology of Death and Dying_ lecture: off to one side, in one of the back rows where the auditorium curves around so there's only three seats before the aisle. Most of the students filtering in are nervous first and second-years, making their way down the stairs and clustering toward the center front. Daichi's here to fill his general education requirements with a paper his advisor recommended highly. By which he means that Takeda had more or less told him it was "guaranteed to send you into existential crisis", a resounding recommendation from a guy who dissects critical theory with weirdly pure enthusiasm before his first coffee.

It's good. Just Daichi and his backpack up in this corner as the lecture hall fills up, with perhaps slightly more people in Doc Martens than he sees in his own corner of campus. Five minutes past the hour, the door closest to Daichi swings open, the student rushing through half-tripping over themself.

Daichi recognizes the mop of silver hair first. Before he can get up, Suga's sliding breathlessly into the empty aisle seat next to him. They set down what looks like new coursebooks for the entire semester, wiggle their satchel off, and pull out a battered notebook before turning to him.

"Sorry about that — oh, Sawamura-san! Fancy seeing you here." 

"Just Daichi's fine. I imagine we'll be seeing a bit more of each other this sem." Suga's smile brightens, still weary, when Daichi smiles back. 

"I hope so!"

The lecturer's finally arrived, making her way to the front and organizing her notes. Daichi's feeling bold. "I was already looking forward to this class, but a familiar face makes it even better."

Suga flushes a little. It shouldn't be this... cute. "Oh! That's right. Gen ed? You wouldn't know anyone in the faculty, then."

The lecturer clears her throat, flicking the projectors on, so Daichi just nods before turning back to his laptop, pulling up the course's online portal.

Really, it's the first day of a 200-level class. He doesn't need to be taking notes, though the outline already sounds both promising and a little outside his comfort zone. Suga, at his side, appears to be absently doodling skulls and flowers and what might be dead birds, but paying some kind of attention all the same. 

"It's a cover page for this unit," they whisper when they catch him looking. Daichi suppresses a snort, and Suga kicks him under the table. 

As class winds up, Daichi packs up his laptop in record time so he can intercept Suga's stack of books before they pick them up.

"Where are you headed to next?"

"You didn't have to," Suga mock-chides, but they're smiling. "Uh, just up to the library, probably? Or maybe to the Queerspace. But I was going to stop by the combini first, so..."

"Let's go, then."

Suga doesn't have their cane today, Daichi realizes as they climb the stairs toward the campus minimart. They're gripping the rail hard, taking the stairs carefully one by one. It's the first time he's seen them walking, though, so he really doesn't know what they need it for. For all he knows, it could be for kneecapping people like him if they get too savior-y. Or if people hit on them, which probably happens a lot. Maybe.

"I'm making my way through every single flavor of every caffeinated drink they have," Suga confides as they approach. "Don't tell anyone. I'll pitch a review to Chillmag and they'll give me Kageyama's spot, I'm sure."

"I'm pretty sure you'd just be published as a guest author," Daichi manages through his bewilderment. 

"Yeah, well, one can dream." They join the line of eyebag-laden students inching politely around the inside of the shop. Daichi grabs a three-pack of peanut butter filled crackers off the promo shelf at the front, Suga eyeing him with amusement. "Protein, not too sweet, on special. Figures that you'd be the responsible kind." 

"As opposed to... I didn't know that existed." Finally at the fridges, Suga makes a beeline for what appears to be a single orange vanilla sugar-free cola, wedged into a corner behind the sports hydration drinks. 

They press a yellow bottle with a red apple on it into his hands. "Here, try this." 

The text on the front is definitely not in any language Daichi knows. "Apple... soda?" 

"From Malaysia," Suga says. "Give it a go, it's shockingly good." They grab one of the miserable reduced-to-clear packs of hosomaki from the chilled shelf as they shuffle past, and they're paying, and back into the somewhat less claustrophobic corridors of the student commons.

Suga squints through the floor-to-ceiling glass on the far side of the building. Across the road, the general library is as static as ever, a brutalist block with mildewing windows that glint opaque in the afternoon sun. 

"I can just tell there's basically no seats left in there," they sigh. "Queerspace, then? If you're okay with that. You didn't have to come with me, either way."

Why wouldn't he be okay with that — _oh_ , right. "Why is it that every cute queer on campus thinks I'm straight," Daichi says. "What am I doing wrong."

It's not really meant as a question, but Suga stops walking anyway. Hands on hips, they give him a deliberate, bemused onceover. "I'm not sure," they muse, tapping a fingertip against their lips. "It might be the khakis. Or the polo shirt. Or both in combination, in colors nobody would describe as metrosexual. Or—"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Should I start wearing skinny jeans and graphic tees, or is that even more generic?"

Suga nudges him companionably as they step into the elevator. "Nah. You'd look like a plainclothes cop trying to infiltrate a student activist group that way."

Daichi's groan is perhaps more despairing than he intends it to be. "So you're saying I'm terminally uncool, pretty much."

"I think it's charming," Suga says. The doors ding open, and Daichi follows them through to the beanbag-cluttered converted office the university's recently set up, ducking through the rainbow and trans flags that shield the entrance from public view. Suga stops and plucks something from the bowl on the resource shelf that doesn't contain condoms and dams, then turns to Daichi and pins it gently to his collar. It's a little slip of rainbow ribbon, looped onto a safety pin. 

"There," Suga murmurs, hands lingering by Daichi's neck. "That's all you need."

They're awfully close. Daichi makes to say something, but he's derailed entirely by the student government president barrelling out from one of the smaller offices nearby, finger pointed in accusation.

"Refreshing-kun! Why did you tell Kageyama to interview me last semester? He hasn't left me alone since!"

"Welp," Suga laughs. "You go find a spot. I'll be right there."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter mentions family homophobia and implied past physical child abuse (very briefly). these have been added to the tags!

Daichi is a man of routine, and he's gotten to see Suga twice a week for six weeks now, regular as clockwork. So he's surprised to find Suga at one of the outdoor tables near the cafeteria on a Wednesday evening, a time when he's never seen them on his usual route. 

He's not going to pass up an opportunity to have some company with his dinner, though. Suga looks up from their food and smiles at him as he sets his things down and slides onto the other rusting bench.

"Fancy seeing you here," Daichi opens. Suga laughs, rolling their eyes, then makes a show of ignoring him in favor of the viscous, bright red contents of their takeaway container. "Wait, hang on. What _are_ you eating?"

"Tofu and noodles, mostly? From the Chinese place over there." 

Daichi stares. "It looks like it'd set me on fire." 

"Probably!" Suga laughs. "It's usually one of the only things they have left when they do the discount evening rates, and it's my favorite. Wanna try?"

Daichi looks between Suga's food and his own perfectly satisfying paper carton of non-neon curry udon. "I'll... pass." 

Suga, as Daichi's already learned, is not a quick eater. Between chopsticks-gesticulating and repeatedly unlocking their phone to browse various feeds for two minutes, Daichi's done before they've made a dent on the half-container they had left when he got there. 

He puts his trash in the bin, then rejoins Suga. 

"Why are you here so late today? Got a paper due?"

"Ah, I don't usually have class on Wednesdays! I had an appointment." 

"Like an office hours?" Daichi has a sudden thought. "Uh, if you don't want to answer, that's fine too."

Suga's smile is small and rueful. "It's okay. I'm withdrawing from one of my papers this semester, so I had to talk to Disability to make sure I could get it refunded."

"Could you?" A nod. "That's good. Does it change your student status?"

"Thankfully not." Suga puts the lid back on their noodles, evidently giving up on eating for now. "I'm lucky on that front. They count me as a limited full-time student, so I don't lose access to the library or anything like that. Technically, it means I'm doing a full-time courseload, just that full-time for me is less than it might be for you."

A few months ago, Daichi would have been too awkward to have this conversation, probably. Suga is hardly an open book, but he knows they don't mind. "But you were taking it, and things changed?"

"Yeah. Funnily enough, it's mostly a money problem. It's got a compulsory 8AM lab, and all the public transport early enough is standing-room and really difficult for my blood pressure, but I definitely don't have the money to take a taxi to class twice a week."

"Which student does," Daichi says, and Suga laughs, but he feels like he's missing something. 

Later that night, walking home from the bus stop, Daichi's still thinking over that conversation. He's distracted enough that he forgets to take the little rainbow pin he's been wearing off before he gets home, as he usually does. 

"Daichi," his mother says as he steps into the kitchen. "What is that." 

He follows her gaze, looks at her grip on her cleaver, and decides to play dumb. "It's a ribbon? There was some kind of charity drive. I wasn't paying attention."

It's no use. It turns out there was some kind of educational pride thing on television during the day, and Okaasan had caught enough of it that she knows what a six-striped rainbow means, and what follows is an interminable hour of being lectured about paying attention to perversion and not dishonoring his family name. 

This rhetoric never sat right with him before, not even before he knew what he was. But this year's Daichi, who spends at least an hour a week in Queerspace with Suga (long enough to know the freckled queer student officer and his cranky partner, to have watched Professor Shimada nervously enlist student advice on her social transition, to have _fallen in love_ ) can't bear it quietly. 

"I can't listen to this," Daichi eventually says. If he were someone else, he'd have a whole speech prepared, something that would stun his family into silence and convince them to change their ways. But he's just Daichi. He remembers Kageyama's recited words from that first meeting. "I'm going to be a social worker. We have to respect everyone and help everyone, no matter what."

By the time his father starts saying something biting about working for child protective services, he's shutting the door behind him a little too hard. Maybe not hard enough, he thinks, and scrubs a hand over his face. He's more worked up than he has any right to be, coward that he is. 

Before he can get any deeper down that train of thought, he finds himself calling Suga. 

"Daichi? What's wrong?" 

Daichi can't help but laugh. "You know me too well already," he says.

"Well, you never call. Nobody our age willingly calls anyone. Also you're probably the kind of person to ask permission before calling."

"That's true," Daichi concedes. "It's... just my parents."

"Yeah? Hang on just a moment." In the background, Daichi can hear rustling, the zip of a bag, footsteps. The murmuring quiets down.

"Okay, that's better. What's up?"

"Are you still on campus?"

"Yeah, in the basement lab. I wasn't doing anything important, don't worry. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. I just... forgot to take my ribbon off before I got home, is all."

"Oh." Suga's quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. And nothing — nothing that bad happened, just a lot of yelling. I might have slammed my door a little bit."

"Go you," Suga teases. 

"They haven't hit me since I outgrew them," Daichi says, not keeping up, then clamps a hand over his mouth in surprise. What is _wrong_ with him. "Uh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. That was a lot."

"Hey. Dai, breathe. Where are you now?"

"In my room," Daichi says. "I'm gonna. Sit down." 

"Good. Okay. Do you wanna hear about _my_ family instead, or something else altogether?"

Suga hasn't talked about their family before. "Nothing you don't want to tell me," Daichi says. 

"When have you ever known me to do something I don't want to do?" Suga replies, voice carefully light. Daichi can picture them, likely sitting on the bench behind the steps, where the vinyl's been picked to bits by a thousand students ducking away from unsaved work to take a thousand terrible phone calls. They've probably got that one face on, the one that's soft around the edges in a way that's hard to pin down as weariness or fondness.

"Tell me something good," Daichi says eventually, settling down on his bed.

Suga hums, thinking. "I'm eating the other half of that box of noodles now. Oh, and I sent Tsukishima the Mbembe and Puar and Butler we've been doing and now she wants to start a reading group next semester. Probably Althusser, unless Yamaguchi gets his way about starting with something short like the Manifesto."

"Those are... two very different things, and I'm not sure either of them is good."

"It's a choose-your-own-adventure," Suga says. "Pick a route. Chilli oil or ideological state apparatuses. Apparati?"

The moon is high in the sky by the time Daichi bids Suga goodnight and goes to draw his curtains.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter discusses homelessness. as a note, the new zealand definition of homelessness includes [anything where you have no other options](https://www.thepeoplesproject.org.nz/homelessness/).

The Human Sciences building is a nightmare Daichi tries to avoid. On the top floor, the walls are inexplicably papered in a peachy pleather that looks and feels far too much like human skin; heading toward the bottom two, the elevators flicker and deposit you on one or the other at random. In between, each floor's corridors are different despite opening into just as many tiny rooms. It'd used to be a hospital, before the wars, and Daichi's sure it's still haunted.

But he's chasing down all his options for a supervisor for next year, and half the people interested in the literature review he has in mind have been penned into windowless, damp offices in the purgatory of the middle floors. 

Daichi's retracing his steps on the sixth floor when he stumbles. The door to Ukai's office is cracked, the cap of a familiar battered cane wedged into the gap. Its owner is asleep on Ukai's ratty couch, curled so tightly into themself that all he can see from the doorway is their distinctive hair. Behind them, the monitor on the desk flickers from a spreadsheet to an animated screensaver.

Daichi hesitates a moment, then makes his way in. A small towel falls off the hook on the back of the door as he does, and he picks it up to replace it. It's a little damp.

Behind him, Suga stirs. "Daichi?"

"Hey, you." Daichi settles onto the desk chair as Suga struggles upright. That cowlick of theirs springs right back up the moment they're vertical. "I was looking for a supervisor, and I found you instead."

"Oh. Ukai's out of town," Suga says, voice still thick with sleep.

"Which is why you're...?" Daichi's starting to get the feeling he should have put the pieces together a long time ago.

"Technically, I'm being his research assistant. Not that I'm doing much research." They reach for their drink bottle on the desk, and Daichi passes it over. "Give me a moment to wake up? I know you've got questions."

The story about Suga's family turns out, as Daichi suspected, to not be anything good. "So my father evicted me and drained the account he still had access to... probably about a week after that time you tripped over me, actually."

Daichi's heart sinks. "Where have you lived since?"

"Oh, you know. Here and there. Mostly here, at the moment!" Suga smiles, but it doesn't reach their eyes. "Ukai's been too kind — the stipend for this project is enough for bond on a new place. If I don't spend any of it. But after the first bit of sleeping wherever while it was still warm, I was in a hostel on the other side of town until they raised the rent."

"Are you..." Well, they're clearly not okay. "Do you have access to everything you need, crashing here?"

"Close enough. Did you know there's showers behind the elevators on the lowest floor?"

"B2? The one where the lights don't work?" 

"Yeah. They're actually really good. Decent water pressure and everything. No locks, but I guess that's why I can get in."

The twist of Suga’s mouth is mirthless and bitter. Absently, Daichi runs through the resources he knows of. Of course, his lit review is about the infinite gaps in their social welfare systems, big enough for thousands of people like Suga to fall through. There's no chance there's anything Suga, in all their infinite resourcefulness, hasn't already tried.

"You know what's absurd?" Suga says suddenly. "All of this. All of this, it'd be okay. If I knew I could get through it and get placed in a school and have a job at the end of it all. But I learned this year that the Education building doesn't have a single functioning elevator, and I know Tadashi's in the middle of an equity battle on behalf of a Primary Teaching student who isn't being allowed on placement because he's very openly gay. And the Chancellor..."

"Is a tyrant, who's not going to make any of that better." Daichi's not the only one in the Social Work faculty who's watched budget after budget getting slashed, buildings falling apart in every faculty that isn't Business or Engineering, staff too outspoken about inequality losing their contracts. 

“If he raises the student levies any further, I know a lot of us won't be able to graduate."

Daichi does the mental math quickly, maximum loan rates against rising levies against cost of living. They're right. Anyone who isn't living at home, able to work, or otherwise supplementing their income is going to go from instant noodles to dropping out. When he meets Suga's gaze, their eyes are dark with intent.

"What can we do?"

"Not much," Suga says. "But I've got nothing left to lose, really, so I'll figure something out."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has some (unarmed) police brutality, briefly.

This is the problem: Daichi is nothing if not straightforward.

It means that Suga's politely declined his offers to help with the... less legal parts of whatever half the reading group is planning for the university administration meeting. He worries, but he doesn't mind that all too much.

"You'll be more helpful as an outside voice," Suga'd said. "You're respectable looking enough to pass for a passerby who felt convinced. Maybe give the news a soundbite, if we get that far." They're probably right, and he's certainly got plenty to say.

His current issue, though, is his family. It's no secret that Daichi's been coming home later and later, that he sometimes comes home without the jacket he was wearing that morning, that he smiles at his phone far more than he ever used to. They know what it means, even before his father starts catching him making lunch for two in the mornings.

It just figures that today of all days is the day they decide to sit him down and talk about it.

"Don't get me wrong," his father says, finally taking a breath. "We're both so glad that you've finally grown into the fine young man we raised you to be. Your mother was worried for years that you'd never be sensitive enough to woo a girl."

"But we don't even know her name," his mother adds. "I'm your _mother_. You should confide in me, you know."

And this is the thing: Daichi is not a good liar, but he is also a coward.

"Suga," he says. "Suga-chan." Oikawa's definitely called them that at least once in his earshot, so it counts.

"Oh, she sounds lovely." Okaasan's eyes are gleaming with interest she isn't bothering to conceal. "What does she look like? Is she beautiful?"

"Yeah," Daichi sighs. Lets his feelings grow pink on his cheeks, for once. "Suga has a beauty mark right about... here. The softest silver hair." He stumbles a little, hopes it comes across as just being flustered. "She comes up to about here."

"The perfect height, too," his mother coos.

"What does she study?" His father asks.

"History and mathematics, mostly," Daichi answers honestly. "She's working to get certified to teach them at a high school level."

"A respectable career for a woman," Otousan muses. He scratches his chin. "It's likely you'll make more than her, which is good. I still wish you'd joined the Police academy, though. Social work is a little bit soft."

That snaps Daichi out of thinking about the fullness of Suga's lips. He does have somewhere to be. "Ah— I really need to catch the next bus," he says, fumbling for his wallet.

"Of course you do," Okaasan says, devious smile in full force. "Let me guess. Studying for a class you share? That general paper of yours? Did she make the first move? Bless you, you're too oblivious to meet a girl anywhere else."

"You know me too well," Daichi says, half-sheepish and all-awkward, and makes a hasty exit.

* * *

The bus is, of course, late. By the time Daichi gets to university, it's a little past noon, and Suga had said the meeting would begin by half past eleven. He makes his way toward the hall where the university administration meeting's being held, only to find himself running straight into a police officer where the path opens into the hall gardens.

"I wouldn't go that way if I were you, son." The cop seems disinterested, but has his hand on his taser anyway. "We're clearing out a bit of trouble."

Oh. Oh no. He really is late, then. "I'm a postgrad," Daichi says. He pulls himself to his full height, channels last year's straight-laced Daichi. "I've, uh, got an office over that way, and a meeting to get to. I won't get in your way."

The officer looks him over, polo shirt and slacks and sweater-vest and denim jacket, shrugs, and steps aside. He hurries past.

Closer to the building, the parking lot is cordoned off, a police van parked in front. The rapid babbling he hears resolves into Ennoshita's voice. The student in question is being frog-marched into the van, curling forward protectively around his camera, hands cuffed behind his back so he can't do anything about the way it's swinging from his neck.

"These meetings are meant to be open to the public," he's repeating. "I'm a film student. I have a stake in the university, and in documenting them." It doesn't sound like anyone's listening to him.

Daichi, standing shocked behind the red tape, catches his eye. Ennoshita straightens up upon seeing him, jerking his head just once toward the point where the driveway meets the road, and then he stumbles forward into the van in a litany of quiet cursing.

"Holy shit, Suga, what _happened_ ," Daichi hears him say, and almost makes to jump the barrier on sheer instinct. Turning instead to look down the driveway, he sees what Ennoshita wanted him to.

There's a few familiar faces among the two dozen forming a haphazard human barrier between the van and the road. On one end, Tsukishima looks indifferent as ever, save for the vivid bruises blossoming across her folded forearms. Yamaguchi's leaning into her, jaw set; Yachi, who Daichi only knows as the student who makes their phenomenal posters, is flittering around the other edge, camera tight in her grip. Right in the middle, Daichi sees Ennoshita's friend Tanaka, halfway to tears, baring his teeth at the police. He doesn't even _go_ to this university, but here he is.

"Don't you dare," Tanaka shouts, voice hoarse. "Don't you fucking dare." Then, as if summoning stamina from somewhere else, he inhales and begins bellowing a chant familiar to the more seasoned of the group.

"Army of the rich, enemy of the poor!" One by one, the others pick it up, galvanized by the steel in Tanaka's voice.

 _Fuck it_ , Daichi thinks. He crosses the grass like he had the first time he’d run into Suga. This time, he dodges half a dozen reporters and cameras along the way, a couple bearing logos for major broadcasters. Kageyama, tight-lipped and gripping his tablet so hard his knuckles are white, offers him a nod as he passes.

About to reach the others, he remembers what Suga had said. He's not sure things are still at the point where the vague plan is at all plausible, but whatever.

He makes a beeline for Tanaka, offers his hand. Tanaka tilts his head for a moment, then takes it, shaking it firmly.

"I'm a postgrad social work student, just passing by," he says, hopefully loud enough for the boom mics around them to pick up, definitely loud enough for the students he doesn't know. "What the university's doing here is unconscionable, and the police even more so. I'll do what I can to help."

He heads for Tsukishima, next, already rummaging through the first-aid kit he'd thrown into his backpack as an afterthought this morning.

"Yamaguchi dislocated his shoulder catching me," she says immediately.

"Catching...?"

"A cop threw me off the fire escape."

Ah. Okay. Daichi is _extremely_ out of his league here.

"Shimizu-sensei reset it for me!" Yamaguchi adds quickly. "Uh, me and Yachi's molecular biology tutor. She did an interview supporting us? She came through about five minutes ago."

"But she didn't have painkillers." Tsukishima's mouth is an even flatter line than usual.

"That I can do." Daichi fishes them out, then his drink bottle. He presses two into Tsukishima's hands as well, despite her glare, then checks on the others in the back row.

"We're all fine," Yachi says. "Tsukishima was the only one of us in the building when the cops arrived, but she didn't get arrested for trespassing because she was... no longer trespassing, I guess."

There's a commotion by the van. Daichi whirls around to see Suga more or less being dragged out by their elbows. From this distance, it's hard to tell if the way they're seemingly unable to walk on their own is the handcuffs, the missing cane, or an injury of some kind. Ennoshita and a short-haired girl Daichi remembers from prelaw are hauled out in turn, then hustled through the garden to a wider-open part of campus, where it seems other squad cars have arrived.

Well. There's not much they can do about that. Which leaves the immediate question.

"Can someone fill me in on what happened, really quickly?"

Narita, sitting on the ground as if it's any other day and he wasn't prepared to get in the way of a police vehicle, begins to explain. His voice is level with the kind of steadiness that comes from retreating into detachment. Ten or so students had attempted to attend the fees discussion meeting, which by constitution had to be open to the public. They'd been asked to leave; a few had, Narita himself included, to see if they could gather more students. Outside, Tsukishima had rallied unexpected attention by starting a debate from the fire escape facing the commons, and that's when the police had shown up and begun removing people no-questions-asked.

"Okay," Daichi begins, pulling his thoughts together. "It doesn't sound like our friends have done anything which means they can be detained after processing, and the police probably won't try anything likely to start a media frenzy." They're lucky it's been a quiet news cycle, and lucky, of course, that they're in the country they're in.

Twenty young faces turn to him, like plants seeking the sun. He's got to make the call that's right for them, too.

"The police station isn't a long walk," he says eventually.

Tanaka whoops. "We won't leave until they're free!"

Behind Daichi, Kageyama clears his throat. "I'll come too," he says. "Looks like the big outlets are done with this story. Yachi-san. Would you take photographs for me? I'm not very good at that part."

"Oh! Of course!"

Kageyama keeps up conversation with those who've joined the journey, moving from person to person and asking blunt, incisive questions that Daichi can already see will be pieced together into a compelling whole. He'll be a good ally to have in the future, Daichi thinks absently, then wonders what the hell that future will look like.

Certainly, a few months ago, it hadn't looked like this for him: a dozen young adults huddled outside the district police station in some kind of surreal midday vigil, inexplicably seeking instruction and comfort from him of all people.

Eventually, the front doors swing open. Ennoshita and Michimiya help a definitely-limping Suga down the stairs, then more or less deposit them in Daichi's arms before turning to be swarmed by their other friends.

The relief surrounding their group is so thick Daichi could touch it, if he stretched a hand out. Somewhere behind them, Yachi's shutter is clicking away; Ennoshita is complaining that his own footage was deleted, Tanaka hollering in supportive outrage. Daichi can feel Kageyama's eyes trained on him, too, but his awareness has narrowed to the warm arms around his neck, the face tucked into his shoulder, his hands bracketing their waist.

"Thank god," he whispers. "Koushi, I was so scared."

"I know," Suga murmurs, low and worn. "I know."

They pull away, just a little, to survey the rest. "I'm glad you brought them here. Looks like you did a good job."

"Me?"

"You're telling me it wasn't you?"

Daichi opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

"Thought so," Suga teases. "Ennoshita said you were there, and I wasn't so worried about the rest after that."

That makes Daichi's heart hurt a little. Suga shifts, and winces, and he files that feeling away for later.

"Oh, I grabbed you a cane from one of the variety stores. It's probably not great, it was quite cheap."

Suga tests it, gingerly. "Mm. It'll do for now, for sure. Thank you. I might still need help getting places, though. My ankle's busted, and a lot of other things are fairly sore."

That's the next question. "Where to, then?"

Tanaka's already on his phone. "My sister's on her way with her van," he says. "And we've got a big house. Let's cook dinner together, and anyone who needs to stay the night can do that."

* * *

Several curry-related disasters later, bellies full of food and throats sore from laughter on top of the earlier shouting, everyone's settled into the futons packed onto the Tanakas' living room floor. A lava lamp in the corner keeps the room dim, but not dark.

The susurration of hushed conversations around them is oddly reassuring, Daichi thinks.

"It's good to know everyone's close enough to see if I sit up," Suga mumbles into his chest.

"I bet."

Daichi's phone buzzes in his bag. Unlocking it, he sees a dozen angry texts from his family.

"I think we were on the news," he says. "My parents saw me and are pretty mad, anyway." He remembers the morning that now seems so distant. "Oh. They might have guessed that I had a girlfriend, this morning, and I kind of just let them think that?"

Suga stifles a laugh, unsuccessfully. "Oh yeah? You and your girlfriend, huh?"

"They could tell I was in love, and just assumed," Daichi whines. Then his brain catches up, and he feels like he might spontaneously combust.

"Oh, Dai." Suga stretches to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. "How are you real," they say, and Daichi knows they mean _I love you too_.

He lobs his phone vaguely back in the direction of his bag. Soon, he's lulled into sleep by Suga's even, slow breathing, their head tucked under his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a _lot_ of thoughts about the versions of these characters that exist in this AU, and am happy to talk about them at length pretty much whenever - what i do want to say is that this is meant to be a journey of daichi's initial radicalization! this protest is a disaster, like most of the student ones i attended. the asanoya longfic i'm working on, set five years on, has them all a bit more experienced and better at looking after themselves and each other.
> 
> only the +1 left, where they stop running into each other! here's to happy endings.


	6. Chapter 6

Perhaps predictably, it's Kageyama's presence which changes things entirely.

Yachi's, too, Daichi thinks, scrolling through the Newsnet article for the fifteenth time. Newsnet is a national platform not known to accept pitches at all, let alone cover campus activity. At some point during the night after the protest, Kageyama and Yachi hunched over a borrowed laptop at Tanaka's dining table, they'd put together something remarkable enough for the current affairs editor to give it a shot.

The cover image leaves him breathless every time. The bulk of the police station looms in the background, the sun just low enough that the chrome edges of its die-cut sign catch the light. The cluster of students telegraph relief and exhaustion with every gesture. To one side, Tanaka's broad hands are lifting Ennoshita's chin with clear delicacy to inspect the chafing on his neck, Kinoshita and Narita hovering as if they can't stand to take their hands off him or each other; to the other, Michimiya's held so tight in Aihara's embrace that the fabric of her jacket is visibly warping. Right in the center of the picture is, well, Daichi's torso. Suga's half-slumped in his arms, the sharp edge of their jawline barely visible propped on his shoulder, cane dangling loosely from the arm thrown around his neck. Their other arm, gripping his bicep, is in front, and the post-processing makes Suga's skinned hand and the scraped-raw elbow peeking through what's left of their shirtsleeve even more stark against the baby-pink plaid.

Daichi's hands look huge, one pressed flat at the small of their back, the other nearly brushing silver curls at their collar. The flex of his knuckles speaks of such immense tension that he feels like he's intruding on a private moment by looking at the picture. Two people washing the scent of fear off each other, where nobody can see them.

It's... anonymous enough, but anyone who knows them would recognize them at first sight. The other pictures in the article take away Daichi's plausible deniability entirely. There's one of him in profile, inspecting Tsukishima's handprint-bruises with a cop's defocused scowl in the background; another, grabbed from the television coverage, of his back as he crossed the van's path to join his friends. The second full-width image doesn't have him in it at all, but it's telling all the same: Suga, rumpled but calm, being manhandled through the hall's doors, flanked by a dozen officers cast blue in the van's lights.

 _The indomitable Sugawara Koushi_ , the caption reads, _continued to exercise their right to attend the meeting despite the reality of violent retaliation._

Daichi's parents... have not been pleased, to say the least. His name isn't even mentioned, but as far as they're concerned he's permanently destroyed the family legacy in more than one way. He's taken to arriving home to sleep and disappearing again as early as he can. Some nights, not even that: more and more often, he's over at Tanaka's instead, wrapping himself around Suga in the spare room's single bed and accepting increasingly elaborate Tanaka-sibling pranks as the price for their hospitality.

Toward the end of semester, Suga puts the lid back on another box of those accursed noodles and catches Daichi watching them fondly instead of reviewing his mock exams.

"I've been thinking," they open.

"Surprising," Daichi says, almost on instinct at this point, and gets the usual eyeroll.

"We should start looking for a place."

Hang on. "Together?"

"Yes, you big goober." Suga leans across and smacks him gently on the nose, like a particularly overgrown cat. "In an ideal world, we'd both have cool apartments and take it slow, but... y'know. I don't want to outstay my welcome with Saeko, and it doesn't sound like you much want to stay at home."

"You're not wrong," Daichi concedes. "I haven't... thought about it, to be honest." But he kind of has, now that he thinks about it. How many mornings has he woken up with Suga tucked against his back and thought that _this would be so nice in a bigger bed_ , or even just looked at them and thought _let's go home_?

Suga nods. "If it helps, I was thinking that it'd probably be most affordable to look for a place with a master bedroom big enough for the two of us, and split rent with whoever is willing to put up with us being embarrassing in the kitchen."

"That sounds really nice, actually." Somehow, over the six months he's known Suga, he's let more people into his heart than he had in all his adult life before then. It'd be nice to have a few of them around all the time. Close enough to reach out for, if he needs. He's working on letting himself need people. In a very different way, he knows Suga's trying to do the same. That they haven't insisted on trying to find a place by themself just to prove that they can is a huge step.

"Sugawara Koushi," he says, seriousness only half-exaggerated. "It would be an honor to share a home with you."

* * *

Renting, as it turns out, is a nightmare that's only traversed because the two of them somehow get mistaken for a straight couple by a private landlord desperate to rent out a poor investment that's about as not-child-safe as it's possible for a habitable house to be. It's... not in good shape at all, aging wallpaper painted over, linoleum curling and cracking with abandon, windowpanes loose in withering wooden frames. But it's big, with a large, old kitchen and a back porch that Daichi can see them enjoying with a guitar on summer nights. The master bedroom has the ugliest built-in headboard and shelves, boarded over what was clearly once a fireplace before the chimney collapsed. Suga _loves_ it.

"Can you have bond in cash tomorrow?" their would-be landlord asks. Daichi hesitates.

"Yes," Suga says, clear and sure. It figures that they needed his boring polo-shirted self to get a foot in the door, but that he'd still be following behind Suga every step of the way.

They shake on it, fill out the forms, and that's it. Pretty anticlimactic after weeks of signing over credit history information and skipping lectures to run to last-minute viewings, but the house is theirs.

Neither of them has much to their name. It takes a couple of weeks of scrounging together extremely dubious furniture from charity shops and friends "donating" things old flatmates left behind before their living room and bedroom are remotely furnished. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi move into the two smallest rooms, opting to put their bed in one and set up a study-and-music room in the other; Ennoshita takes the respectable one with the dilapidated bay window, immediately constructing an impressive series of bookshelves and a desk out of zip-tied milk crates and plywood stolen from the back alley behind the shops across the road. That back porch, before they know it, is strung up with fairy lights, more milk crates serving as seats around a construction sign of unknown origin which has become an excellent tabletop.

It's here, Tsukishima tipsy enough to be coaxed into strumming the same four chords over and over as their friends fill in any song that fits the meter, that they're having their housewarming.

Tanaka's dug two soup spoons out of the silverware he's just gifted them and is setting the beat with them held back to back, whole body bobbing with the rhythm. Asahi, one of Daichi's oldest friends, has finally relented to Aihara putting his hair into an elaborate figure-of-eight with the pearl-topped pins she's pulling from her own hair. A little further away, Tadashi's lighting tealights in a bowl of water, placed for tonight among the collection of succulents and newly-transplanted cuttings they're rapidly gathering, Yachi's hands carefully cupped to protect the lighter from the wind. Kageyama and Ennoshita are audible from inside, arguing over the precision necessary when adding water to store-bought cake mix with no measuring equipment whatsoever. 

It's not the worst, Daichi thinks, even before Suga pads out the back door and settles as a warm weight against his back.

"Fancy running into you here," Daichi murmurs. Suga chuckles, delighted and musical.

Beyond the twinkling of distant streetlights and fairy lights and laughter and cutlery, Daichi sees a future for himself. It's not the wife and kids and dog and white picket fence he would've said he wanted, if he'd been asked before this year.

But it's his, and it's perfect, and maybe he'll have some of that with his Koushi too, one day.

**Author's Note:**

> wow, we made it! please do let me know what you think. 
> 
> when my wife and i last moved, the heavily-dented soup spoons she used to play the spoons on at our terrible old flat went back into our cutlery drawer. they make me smile every time i grab a spoon, a memory of times that were much more messy but that i wouldn't have traded for anything. 
> 
> that's more or less the feeling i'm going for, here. i hope that tenderness shines through.
> 
> also! daichi isn't a coward for dealing with his parents how he did, and neither was i (or you, if that's your situation). i wish i could say that it always gets better. what i can say is this: you are strong already, and one day you will be able to use that strength in a situation where it's not constantly being put under strain. in the meantime, what reason do you need other than pride, to keep becoming a better person?
> 
> as always, i can be found at [@emdashing](https://twitter.com/emdashing) on twitter. this fic can be retweeted [here](https://twitter.com/emdashing/status/1310377104089911303).


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